


48 oz. of soda

by smalltits



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Humiliation, Omorashi, Unfinished, fear wetting, kind of, set in 4b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltits/pseuds/smalltits
Summary: Carl doesn't think to piss before going on a supply run, which doesn't end well.





	48 oz. of soda

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished in the sense that i didn't get to writing anything after the wetting part. This has been sitting in my drive for about a year now so i figured i'd post in lieu of the previous episode

Somehow, supply runs had become sort of a fun thing for them to do. The neighborhoods they were scavenging were sparsely filled with walkers, and they almost never came back empty-handed, even if all they got on one run was a couple of coat hangers and a liter of seltzer. Between all the uncertainties Rick’s little group with Carl, Michonne, and Judith had - whether she’d get enough formula, whether their makeshift camp was safe at night, and whether they’d be able to find the others - it was nice to have a ‘menial’ task such as scavenging, where they could make small talk and jokes, even.

Carl didn’t realize it, but Michonne was becoming one of his favorite people to go on those supply runs with. He loved his dad, sure, but there was something about bonding with someone who wasn’t related to you that felt special to Carl. She could protect him, care about him, and still make dumb little bets and jokes with him. And who could say she wouldn’t be the last person he’d be able to do that with?

“Who needs this many cabinets?” Carl asked - they had been exploring a small section of suburban houses for about a week now, and those cabinets had been why, boasting very pleasing amounts of food for their undernourished group. It was a rhetorical question.

“I guess they just knew we were coming.” The older woman answered anyway, “Even before this. Must’ve been a prophecy, y’know.”

“Yeah?” Carl laughed a little, glad that Michonne was in a good mood like he was. He watched her begin to fill a duffel bag with assorted foodstuffs before turning to his own side of the kitchen. The upper drawers proved unexciting - some very unappetizing cans of soup - and he started on the lower ones, expecting nothing impressive.

Bright, brilliant orange. 12 fl. oz. 12 pack. 44g of sugar per serving. Gorgeous, Carl concluded, before huffing in amusement and pulling the heavy cardboard box out of the drawer. Michonne turned around at Carl’s noise followed by a thud, only to smile at Carl’s excitement. He wouldn’t say, but both he and Michonne knew he had a sweet tooth.

“12 pack - that means each of us can have 3.” She teased to Carl, “Judith will just love it, we can mix it in her formula.” The brown-haired boy shot back “No way. Finder’s keepers. I’m growing, I gotta be energized all the time.” Carl didn’t mean what he said - especially as his eyes glossed over the words ‘CAFFEINE FREE’ - but he liked keeping their spirits up this way.

“Tell you what,” she proposed. “I don’t think your dad has a sweet tooth. We can split it, the two of us.” She stepped over to him, reaching to pick up the orange soda-filled case with one hand.

“Sounds good to me,” Carl chirped, and eagerly ripped the cardboard open before Michonne could even touch it. He pulled out two cans and ripped the tab on one, passing another to his lady-friend. “On second thought, I think you need it more than me.” she mused. In a very strange, swift motion, he chugged the orange can in no longer than a minute.

“Guess you did need it.” Michonne was admittedly a little impressed. “Bet you can’t do it again, though.” She murmured playfully. Carl became even more enthusiastic at her challenge. “Wow, Michonne. Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.” he added with sarcasm - another lid popped off, his head went back, and another can was empty.

***

By the time they had got out of the house, Carl’s case of soda had diminished from 12 to 8 cans. The sugary soda had filled him with so much energy he was practically delirious with it, even offering to race Michonne back to their camp once it was in sight. He still lost to her, but that was because the soda was weighing him down, he insisted.

Rick offered upon their return that he go on a solo hunt - there was another small suburbia to the west, and it seemed safe enough for one person. He thought the two scavengers would be exhausted, and he was half-right - given that Michonne was already tending to Judith while Carl was excited to go on a trek with his father.

Rick interrogated his son on the personal stash of soda he’d acquired before they both began suiting up for their foraging trip. “Why don’t you use the bathroom ‘fore we go,” the older man suggested to his son, “It’s not a real long walk, but we still don’t want to waste too much time.”

“I think I’m gonna be OK, dad.” Carl retorted, “No more kid stuff. Remember?” Rick was surprised at his son’s snippiness while his son was surprised that the words actually came out of his mouth. Maybe it’s the fact that he hadn’t had any in no shorter than 3 years, but he never knew carbonated sugar-water could leave him feeling so damn on-top-of-the-world and energetic and just so great.

***  
Much to both Grimes’s inconvenience, the small group of houses Rick believed was mostly bare of walkers was whatever the opposite of that was. There were at least twelve roamers in the street when they got there, and the houses had proved a similar situation, with at least three or four zombies to each of the surprisingly (and irritatingly) small homes.

The most useful thing they had found so far was a first-aid kit (which was empty save for a thermometer and a single band-aid), and at any rate, Carl had to stay close with his dad. But neither of those were the worst part by far - his sugar high had died down, and he was too busy to feel a sugar crash due to another problem. He had to piss. Like his dad had told him to do earlier. Like he isn’t going to do now because he doesn’t want to swallow his pride and basically tell Rick he was right and Carl was a helpless kid who needed to be told when to piss.

Carl got so absorbed in thoughts of what he wasn’t going to do that he didn’t realize he was clenching his muscles so hard - and jolted when his father lightly tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. I think there’s a basement door here - could have food, weapons, maybe a generator. I’m gonna go down - after I make sure it’s clear, I want you to keep watch up here, OK?” All Carl heard was a great opportunity to finally have release from this personal bladder hell.

It was agonizing waiting for Rick to confirm the basement was clear and for him to get good and busy rummaging through it, even though it couldn’t have been longer than two minutes. Carl started unbuttoning his pants until his ears were met with a disgustingly familiar sound. Walkers snarling - and as he turned his head, the sound and sight of at least 6 walkers snarling. Shit. Carl panicked and bounded for the safest place his frantic mind could think of - a closet.

He swung the door shut behind him, which was just enough to keep the zombies out. The dilapidated door chipped white paint. As he slumped against the wall, panting, he clamped his hands between his legs. “S-shit…” Carl whispered to himself as he realized his crotch was slightly damp - he must have not noticed the loss of control with all that moving around. But he had another problem to deal with, anyway - at least one walker pressed itself up against the barrier and managed to reach through the broken slats of the world’s shittiest closet door.

It spooked the living fuck out of Carl - he had to duck to just barely avoid the zombie aimlessly grab his neck. As this happened, he whined in distress as he felt the fucking stain on his pants grow larger, liquid jetting against his hand for just a second. It was getting really hard to stop the flow at this point, and Carl could feel himself bouncing a little to ease the huge pressure. Nonetheless, he started moving to grab the pistol stuffed in his pants pocket. With one hand, he struggled with the safety before giving up and freeing his left hand, still crossing his legs.

Out of the blue, there was the piercing sound of a gunshot, and Carl jolted, falling on his ass. Acting on reflex, he tried to regain control of his body by contracting in on his body, but the firing continued, as did the impacts on the wall behind him. Deep red walker blood sprayed the wall above him as he watched the dead ones slump back behind the door. It was too much - his bloated bladder couldn’t take it anymore, and Carl didn’t even notice that the last walker stopped snarling, too distracted by the obscene feeling of piss rapidly soaking his jeans.

“Christ, Carl!” Rick opened the door, almost knocking it off its hinges in his violent worry for Carl, “Are you…” he began, but stopped himself at the sight of Carl’s rapidly worsening state. “N-nno…”, the younger Grimes stood up from his place on the floor, which only revealed more liquid quickly spreading from his crotch to thigh, then thigh to lower leg, creating shiny dark streaks. He awkwardly tried to hide the mess with his hands, unsure of what to do. The release felt so fucking good, but the boy was too ashamed to care, listening to his own urine hit the floor, splattering aimlessly and creating a puddle.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to do a s7/s8 fic with him wetting so comment requests if you wish. Or any TWD omorashi requests
> 
> Also i just realized judith being with this group wouldn't make sense in continuity oops


End file.
